Tainted Blood (Hell's Belle Book 2) (4 page)

I leaned against the door and took a deep breath in. I often had to remind myself that Casper was 18 when he died. He was still just a kid. And what teenage boy doesn't want to be James Bond? I had to give Casper a little room to do things on his own, but dammit, Bertrand was dangerous.

"Do you trust him? Lovecraft really rubbed me the wrong way."

"Yeah, I thought he would." The corners of my mouth tugged up as Casper smiled. "He's famous, Nina, so he's kind of all 'Don't you know who I am.' And I knew that shit would drive you cray-cray."

"So you're hanging around with Bertrand's associate to annoy me?"

"No!" Casper's exasperation made him fidgety, and it was all I could do to keep from dancing around the bar. "Check it out, Nina. He was trapped in The Rock but I helped him get out! He owes me."

"Did it occur to you that maybe he was trapped there for a reason? Maybe he's like the Biltmore ghosts?"

The Biltmore Hotel ghosts were downright dangerous. Luckily they were contained in the old, rotting building.

"Nah, he's temperamental and all, but he's famous. He's kind of allowed to be."

"Good god, Casper. You're starstruck!"

"He's Lovecraft. Come on! Aren't you?"

"The spook that I met was inconsiderate, rude and demanding, so no. Not starstruck."

My shoulders heaved up again as Casper shrugged. "This is beside the point, Nina. The point is...Bertrand tied him to the library just like he's tied those other spirits to the Biltmore. H.P. wanted his freedom and I helped him with that. He owes me, and he hates Bertrand."

"And won't Bertrand find out?"

"No, we agreed he sticks around the library. He can leave, but not for long. So he doesn't attract suspicion."

"Okay, fine. But what can he do for us?"

"Not sure yet, but come on, Nina! We have a ghost on the inside!"

"Yeah, a malevolent celebrity spirit at that," I grumbled. "Okay, we'll try it your way. But you keep a very close eye on him. I'm not joking. And if I get one whiff of crappy intel, I will send Father Dougherty to exorcise him. Got it?"

My head bobbed up and down as Casper nodded.

"Words, please," I said. "Use. Your. Words."

I secured the top bolt on the front door and headed toward the supply closet next to the stairs to grab a broom to clean up the broken whiskey bottle. I made it about halfway when the pounding started. Dog, who was snoozing by door, jumped up to attention. A low growl began to rise from her throat. The pounding grew faster, more intense. The door vibrated with each slam, hinges rattling at each impact. I ran to the door, and braced my body against it. I stood on my toes to look out the small grouping of windows at the top of the door.

Frantic eyes stared back at me through the small panes of glass. His face was smeared with dirt, and blood dripped from his small, deformed fangs.  Another sick Beta-Vamp.

His pounding escalated in intensity. He threw his body against the door, crying out when he made impact. Then he stood back and did it again. And again. And again. Like a methed-out human, he felt no pain and just kept on coming. I stared at the bolt lock, straining to hold the door closed. Shit. He was pounding the lock right off the door, and there was no way I could fight off a rabid Beta-Vamp without getting infected.

"¡Santa mierda!" Casper's voice ricocheted around my skull, reminding me that he was still with me. Maybe there was a witchy way out of this.

"Casper...this vamp can't come near me. I think I need a spell. Can you give me a spell?"

"Yeah, I think so. You gotta let me take over though."

"Okay, I think I can do that!" I was holding the bolt lock in place. As soon as I moved my fingers, we had maybe a minute until it went flying off the door.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and relinquished my body to the ghost. Stumbling away from the door, Casper began to chant, except it was my lips forming the words and my voice calmly reciting the unfamiliar Latin. The door exploded off the hinges, and the Beta-Vamp burst into the bar. He released a guttural moan as he eyeballed me. He opened his mouth in a humorless smile as a steady drip of blood flowed down to the floor. He powered towards me.

Casper raised my arms, and my hands began the elegant dance that weaved the spell. I felt Casper's formidable curandero power mingle with my own neophyte abilities. As the magic flowed out of me, I lost myself in its energy.

Whatever Casper was doing was slowing down the vampire, but it wasn't stopping him. Like walking through a knee-deep river of molasses, the Beta-Vamp's grunts got louder from exertion, but he was still moving forward. My voice pitched higher as Casper pushed the words out faster. Dog, her barking loud and fierce, jumped in between me and the menacing Beta.

With a howl, the Beta stopped suddenly, his eyes wide and filled with panic. He dropped to his knees and lifted his arms to me, whimpering. His body began to shake violently.

I leaned in towards him slightly, careful not to get within splatter range.

"Help us. Please. Help us." A wet sound was at the back of his throat. We didn't have a lot of time to get out of there. He was going to blow.

"Casper, back off!" I yelled.

We had to get out of the bar before the blood started to projectile all over me, and I needed my vampire speed. Casper released his hold on me without argument. I grabbed Dog by the scruff of her neck. Pulling her with me, I raced to the open door that lead to the apartment.

I gave the cursed Beta-Vampire a fleeting glance. The look of utter fear and desperation on his face was haunting. I slammed the door safely behind us just in time. A rush of wet, sticky blood hit the door with extraordinary force. Shaking, I dropped onto the third step and cradled my head in my hands.

With a shaky breath, I collected myself, then pulled my cell phone out of my back pocket. "Call Dr. O," I muttered into the phone. In a few seconds, it started ringing.

"Yeah, Nina?" Max's voice was on the other end.

"Um, hi," I was startled. I was expecting Dr. O's lilting Irish brogue, and ended up with Max's California inflection. "I need to talk to the Doc. It's a 911."

"Can you talk to me about it? He's a little busy at the moment," Max's voice faltered.

"A Beta-Vamp stormed Babe's, and there's a huge mess of dirty blood all over the bar. I need The Cleaner." I scooted my butt up to the next step, putting a bit more distance between me and the mess of fluid coagulating behind the door.

"Are you okay? Where are you?" His voice was edged with concern.

"I am fine, just a little...you know. Grossed out." I shuddered. "I'm in the stairwell going up to the apartment. I have no idea how bad it is behind this door."

"Where the hell are these whack jobs coming from?"

"Not whack jobs," I reminded him. "They are Beta-Vamps who hooked into a bad blood supply."

"Okay, since you can't go into the bar, I'll bring The Cleaner over." His breath picked up, like he was on the move.

"Any idea how long?" After the wild ride at the Superman Building, and working all the next day and into the night, plus the visit from our demon mayor, I really wanted to get some sleep. Of course, that wasn't looking terribly promising at the moment.

"I can be there in 20, but it all depends on The Cleaner." The noise behind him shifted, and I heard wind blow across the mouthpiece. He was on his way.

"Right, hurry her if you can." I realized I asked something impossible. You don't hurry The Cleaner.

Max snorted. He learned quickly.

"I'll call when we get there." I could hear him chuckling. "Wait up in the apartment. And for god's sake, Nina, whatever you do, do
not
go into the bar."

"You think?" I said sarcastically, but the phone cut out.

It was odd that Max was dealing with The Cleaner, but at least someone knew how to get a hold of her if Dr. O wasn't available. I had a feeling we'd be calling her a lot until we found the source of contamination.

I got to my feet and climbed backwards up the stairs, my eyes steady on the door to the bar. I didn't quite trust that another sick Beta-Vamp wouldn't try to burst through.

CHAPTER FOUR

I knew they’d arrived before Max knocked. The smell of The Cleaner's cigarette leeched into my apartment several minutes before Max drummed on the door. I sprayed a homemade air freshener — some lemongrass concoction made by Babe — and hollered, "Only those without a cigarette dangling from their mouth can come in!"

Max cracked open the door at the exact moment I spritzed around it to kill the tobacco smell, and I hit him with the full force of the spray.

"You're welcome," he sputtered, wiping off his face with the bottom of his untucked shirt. Rumpled, unshaven and with dark circles under his eyes, Max looked like I felt. Like shit.

"Sorry." I put the spray bottle down and pulled him into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. "But damn that cigarette reeks."

Max slumped into a kitchen chair. "I had to drive her here, and she said it was too cold to open the windows."

"Why didn't you tell her to put the damn thing out?"

He looked defeated. "I did."

"What happened?"

He pointed to his left eye. I dipped my head closer to examine it and saw the start of a really nice shiner. I snorted and opened the second door, which lead outside, to air out the cigarette smell. Then I flopped onto the chair next to him.

He shrugged. "Dr. O warned me not to make her angry."

"Thanks for bringing her out." I gave him a small smile. "When was the last time you ate? I can make you eggs."

"Eggs? The last time we had eggs together..." He returned my smile with a crooked one.

"...your life went completely ass over kettle. Sorry. Again." I dropped my forehead onto the table. Babe made her famous omelets while Dr. O and I dropped a bombshell on Max. We told him supernatural creatures were real. And I was one of them. Life as he knew it ended the first time he ate eggs with me.

"It's okay, Nina." He rubbed the back of my head reassuringly, not unlike when I pet Dog. "Life just got more interesting."

"No shit," I sighed, raising my head back up. "And now you are a double agent and getting zero sleep."

"You don't look exactly well rested yourself."

True. But he looked entirely more exhausted than me. Of course, being part-vampire meant I handled the nocturnal hours better than most.

"How's it going over at FBI HQ anyway?"

I hoped this would be a lighter topic, but his face clouded over. I shifted slightly away from him, not knowing what to expect. Since he turned into a Berserker, his temper flared hot and fast. A sadness came over him when he noticed me putting some distance between us.

"They are sending me to anger management," he said glumly.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe it was the tension between us after our attempt at a relationship crashed and burned, but I burst out laughing. I couldn't help myself. It was just...funny.

"Sorry," I said. I held out my hand towards him and shook my head. "It's just...I just...a Berserker, in anger management!" I stopped laughing as quickly as I started. "Maybe that's not such a bad idea."

"You're kidding, right?" He balled up his fists and squeezed, like there was an imaginary stress ball in there.

"Honestly, Max, you have to learn to control this anyway. We'll be screwed if you Hulk out in the wrong place. Say, like, in front of the FBI. If you can control the rage, and turn only when you need to, it would be a whole lot safer."

"Maybe it's time the world knew the truth," he said quietly, staring at his balled up fists.

"You're joking, right?"

"No, I'm not. If we are in a position to help people, if we can warn people that their nightmares are real, can't they better protect themselves?" he said, growing emphatic.

"Max, that would be Armageddon. The only one to benefit would probably be Bertrand, because demons like him know how to play both sides. Trust me. It would not be good."

"And how do you know?" he pushed. "Have you ever tried?"

"Yes, with you. And look at how well that turned out." My voice was edged with sarcasm.

I pushed my chair back with a fair amount of force and stood abruptly. Max's anger when I came clean about Blood Ops was still raw in my memory. He was confused and angry, but he went running to Bertrand, setting forward the chain of events that may have brought down my would-be assassin, but at a pretty high cost. He became one of us.

Grabbing two cold bottles of black cherry soda from the fridge, I tossed one to Max, who grabbed it one-handed.

"I understand your position," he started slowly. "But—"

"Sorry, Max," I interrupted quickly. "There are no qualifiers for this one. There would be riots. Chaos. I am pretty sure there would be lynchings. The badass supernaturals would come out of hiding hell bent on destruction. And the humans would probably be worse. Maybe we should pay a visit to Salem this weekend? I suspect political correctness would be thrown right out the window. No one would think twice about burning a witch again."

I drummed my fingers on the side of my soda bottle, wondering if Max had lost his mind. The idea of outing the entire supernatural community was preposterous.

Max's cell phone interrupted our uncomfortable silence.

"Agent Deveroux," he grumbled, pulling it to his ear. His face clouded over again. "Yeah, she's with me right now. Why?"

I looked at him, puzzled. His stern expression broke and he grinned almost in spite of himself. "What if she refuses? Okay, I will let her know. No, thank you, Mayor."

I slumped back into my seat.

"What did he want?" I grumbled. Bertrand was never good news.

"Did you block his numbers?" Max's blue eyes twinkled a bit, his mouth tugging up at the corners.

I shrugged and he burst out laughing, easing the tension between us.

"He is the mayor, Nina," he said once he composed himself.

I took a long swig from my bottle of soda. "I didn't vote for him. What did he want?"

"He wants you to go to his Biltmore suite to meet Tavio's son? I didn't know Tavio had a son."

"Long story," I said. "When?"

He looked at his watch. "In about three hours."

"Oh come on!" I barked at no one in particular.

Max shook his head. "Sorry. He wants Frankie there, too, if that helps."

"Why would he want Frankie there?" Bertrand didn't have much use for vampires other than my Uncle Tavio, and apparently me. Inviting Frankie to the party was highly suspect.

Just then, the text message alert went off. I got up and grabbed my phone from the kitchen counter. It was Frankie.

We r summoned 2 Bertrand's at 6am. R we blowing it off?

His text made me smile. He was back to his old self.

I really wanted to blow this off, but with Frankie's ability to daywalk controlled by Bertrand, we were in a really sticky situation. I didn't trust that the demon magic didn't come without strings.

We're going.
I typed back to him.
Meet at 5:30 at Babe's.

OK, sweet dreams. xo

Dammit, this demon was a manipulative pain in the ass.

"So what's this about? Anything the rest of us should know about?"

I looked at Max out of the corner of my eye. The "team" was always Frankie and me. Dr. O, like a true Druid, was there for us as advisor, planner and sage. Darcy was our tactical support. Babe was...well, I thought Babe was kind of like Team Mom, but it turned out that she was much more than that. She was the unofficial witch on the team, doing a lot more behind the scenes than I imagined.

But stuff like this...meeting informants, chasing down baddies, ferreting out leads — the day-to-day grind of being supernatural hunters — these were things that Frankie and I did as partners, without really talking it through with anyone else. Not while we were in the thick of it, at least. Like, if we weren't going in wired, we didn't need to wake Darcy up.

Now, with Max, things were different, and we weren't used to working this way. Frankie and I had fallen into a rhythm. Even before the binding, I almost knew what Frankie's thoughts were before he did. That's just how it was between two people who worked closely at a maximum intensity job. Max turned our twosome into a threesome, and it was kind of weird.

We couldn't quite find the groove for the three of us, especially since there was unresolved history between Max and me. And, according to Darcy, Frankie had his own unresolved feelings for me. So the whole thing was super-awkward. I am not big on expressing emotions, so it was way more comfortable for me to bury my head in the sand than confront it head-on.

"Bertrand and Tavio," I shuddered in disgust as I said their names. "Tavio's son is in this sort-of famous band, and they have these problems with riots and murder and general mayhem when the band rolls into town. And they are rolling into Providence this morning."

The manila envelope Tavio left with me was in the center of the table. I slid it over to Max.

He pulled out the bundle of news clippings and studied them for a minute. "Looks like something for Providence PD, or a private security detail. You are neither."

I cringed at his use of the word "you." He still didn't feel like he was part of the team, and the fault for that lay squarely on my and Frankie's shoulders.

"That's what I said. But apparently these riots have a supernatural origin."

"Okay, so like the marauders?"

"Sort of. Imagine that magnified by a thousand. This band plays to capacity crowds every night."

"There's no guarantee that it will happen here." Max's skepticism almost rivaled my own.

"Something is already happening here. Bertrand suggested we get out ahead of it," I said. "And since Frankie likes walking around during daylight hours, I think we have to comply."

He shuffled through the papers. "These cities — Chicago, San Francisco, Austin, Miami — these cities have not had any supernatural takeovers, right? I'd be more convinced if this happened in Detroit."

"I agree," I said. "But Detroit was the first leg of the tour. Maybe they picked up whatever it is there, and it's following them."

Max puzzled over that for a minute. "What do you know about Detroit?"

"When the humans moved out, the monsters moved in," I said. "The explanation's pretty simple."

He smiled, the delicate skin around his blue eyes crinkling good-naturedly. It was a look I had not seen enough of since Bertrand turned him Berserker. "There is elegance in simplicity, but I need a little more info. Is there one dominant supernatural...thing...in Detroit? Or is it a melting pot of crazy?"

Even though Max was a novice at the supernatural stuff, he was a great cop, and even his simple investigative skills enhanced what we did tremendously. Frankie and I, being born monsters (part-monster, in my case), were drawn to action. We didn't spend a lot of time asking questions, investigating. We just kicked a lot of ass. Max brought a little more finesse to the operation.

"Detroit started the way they always start. Poltergeists come first, followed by vampires, maybe were-animals of some sort, depending on the location. Eventually the demons show up. That's when you're screwed. Demons are near impossible to remove."

"What about the witches?"

"What about them?" I shrugged. "Witches are everywhere. They aren't drawn to places when supernatural stuff goes off. In fact, they prefer the company of humans. Unless you're into voodoo. Voodoo practitioners don't mind hanging with the ghosts."

"What happened here then? Is there enough of an infestation to bring Bertrand and his kind here?"

I sipped my soda, considering that for a minute. "I hadn't really thought about it, to be honest. But no, it's not like that here. The poltergeists are definitely here, but they are concentrated in one area."

"The Biltmore Hotel?" he asked.

"Well,
mostly
concentrated in one area," I clarified, thinking about Lovecraft, who moved unencumbered around the East Side.

"So why is Bertrand here?"

"Good question," I muttered. "You gonna ask him the next time you see him?"

Max snorted. "I don't think so."

I grinned back. "Me neither."

This was nice, easy. Forgetting myself, I sighed audibly, relaxing into our conversation. It was like this between us, before all hell broke loose. Nice. Comfortable. I stared down at Max’s hands and almost willed them to reach out and grab mine.

"So, I wanted to talk to you and Dr. O about last night's evidence plant. And arson." And just like that, I was jarred out of my fantasy.

"There's nothing to say. We do it to keep our secret," I bristled, sitting up stiffly in my chair.